


Boy You Got Me Helpless

by stardropdream



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Shiro (Voltron), Frottage, M/M, Mutual Pining, Not-So-Oblivious Keith (Voltron), Oblivious Keith (Voltron), Pining Shiro (Voltron), Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Post-Canon, Purring Keith (Voltron), Season 8 Doesn't Exist, Sparring, Strength Kink, Thirsty Shiro (Voltron), Top Keith (Voltron), Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:41:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28196331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardropdream/pseuds/stardropdream
Summary: Shiro has always known Keith is strong. It’s the sort of strength that takes people by surprise, really. Keith is willowy— slim and lean at first glance. There’s no denying he has well-defined muscles, but his body type is one that belies his strength potential, especially when standing beside someone like Shiro.Shiro might know this, but he’s still shocked when Keith picks him up.Or: Shiro discovers his strength kink and fabricates reasons for Keith to show off that strength.
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 124
Kudos: 449





	Boy You Got Me Helpless

**Author's Note:**

  * For [coffeeonthebrunhild](https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeeonthebrunhild/gifts).



> Fic request for [Sunday](https://twitter.com/SundaySEternal) , who asked for Shiro realizing he has a strength kink when Keith picks him up... and then trying to find other reasons for Keith to casually display his strength. (Yes, that title is a Hamilton lyric; do not perceive me.)
> 
> I had WAY too much fun writing this one so I hope you all enjoy, too. Many thanks to [Hiro](https://twitter.com/bioplast_hero) who helped me brainstorm silly reasons for Keith to show off his strength (you can thank him for my fav scene in this fic). And thank you to [Sharki](https://twitter.com/leftishark_) who offered insights on gym equipment that I then was a jerk and barely used lmao, ilu. 
> 
> Thank you, as always, to my incredible beta [Meg](https://twitter.com/kedawen) who has read so much of my nonsense this year hehe.

It first happens when the Paladins are on a distant moon far, far from home, foraging for edible plants. 

It’s not unexpected when Shiro feels fatigue slide through his body, sleek and intimate like a painfully familiar shadow. It’s understandable, he reminds himself: he’s only just returned to his body after his time in the astral plane. An adjustment to being corporeal again is expected. He’s had to remind himself of this often since waking up. 

The light is harsh here but there are the distant sounds of alien-birds. It’s a beautiful day— and Shiro is tired. 

He doesn’t let himself be ashamed of that fact as he sits on a large rock just to breathe. His vision swims for a moment as his body adjusts to the shift in equilibrium. And a younger Shiro, a more brash and headstrong Shiro, might be embarrassed that he tires so easily now— but this Shiro almost feels euphoric with it: what a joy, what a privilege it is to tire at all, to have a body that moves and exists in a physical space and can grow weary just from walking a short distance. Shiro never would have expected even lack of stamina to be a privilege, but it is. 

Shiro watches alien-birds flit between tree branches and smiles, delighting in the mundane. 

There was a time when Shiro hated to feel so helpless— times long past now. He remembers it well, growing up riddled with chronic pain, ready to snarl at anyone who dared to treat him like glass. He’d been stubborn, determined to prove everyone wrong. He’d hidden it all away, never letting anyone know the full extent of his frustration. 

The pain and ache in his body now is a different sort of ache, but even the ripple of his old muscle pain could make him feel happy now. Proof, always, that he is alive. He’s grateful for it, too. 

He is alive because of Keith. Always because of Keith.

Shiro curls and uncurls his fingers, reveling in even the quietest of movements. His breathing still comes quick, heart pounding like he’s just finished a marathon. 

This is how Keith finds him, because Keith practically has a sixth sense when it comes to Shiro needing him. The alien-birds go silent just as Keith emerges from the trees like the way a sunbeam might pierce through the darkness. Shiro smiles when he sees him, the action involuntary and deeply felt. Keith is always welcome. 

“Keith,” he says in a murmur, a quiet greeting. 

Keith looks beautiful in the brazen light of this moon, forceful and glowing. But then, Keith always looks beautiful to Shiro— that’s just a fact of life, really. Keith trots up to him, his brow furrowed, eyes doing quick little movements across Shiro’s face as he scans him, searching for signs of pain or distress. 

“I’m just a little tired,” Shiro says to the question Keith doesn’t ask. “It will pass.”

Keith drifts closer, his hand straying to Shiro’s shoulder and holding there, just the gentlest pressure. 

“Are you okay?” Keith asks, his voice so soft and tender that just the tone is enough to make Shiro want to cry. 

Shiro folds his only hand over Keith’s. He wants to lean into the feeling. He wants to press his cheek against Keith’s knuckles, to imagine the whisper of their skin against skin despite Keith’s gloves. There’s never a moment when he doesn’t want Keith touching him. 

Keith looks at him, patient and intense, and waits for Shiro’s answer. 

“I’m fine,” Shiro says, smiling still. “Just… dead weight today, I guess. Maybe I probably should have stayed with the Lions.” 

“You always belong here with us,” Keith says easily because he always believes that— Shiro’s place with the team is never in question for Keith. Shiro squeezes his hand in gratitude. Keith smiles in response, the smallest flick of his mouth, and turns his head to survey the surrounding terrain. “Do you think you can get back?” 

“Maybe after I rest here for a bit,” Shiro says. He rolls the toe of his boot in the dirt, delighting in the feeling of it— how luxurious it is, to have a body that can do and feel so many things, both the senseless and the purposeful. The alien-birds have started singing in the trees again, their songs soothing. 

Keith shakes his head. “I can carry you.” 

Shiro has always known Keith is strong. It’s the sort of strength that takes people by surprise, really. Keith is willowy— slim and lean at first glance. There’s no denying he has well-defined muscles, but his body type is one that belies his strength potential, especially when standing beside someone like Shiro or Hunk. Someone like Allura has more defined biceps, too. It’s easy to forget Keith’s strength, but Shiro’s seen the flat expanse of Keith’s stomach the few times he lifts his shirt to wipe at his sweaty forehead, flashing each glorious ab that always makes Shiro want to lick him clean. 

Shiro might know this, but he’s still shocked when Keith picks him up. 

Before Shiro can say anything, to deny or to joke or any other sort of reaction to Keith’s suggestion, Keith steps closer and slides his arms down to pick Shiro up effortlessly. One arm tucks beneath Shiro’s knees and the other supports his back, and then Shiro’s deadlifted into a bridal style carry without Keith so much grunting or heaving. It’s fluid, Keith swooping in to pick Shiro up like he weighs nothing at all.

Keith might not make a sound, but Shiro certainly does— he thinks he might squawk, his arm flinging around the back of Keith’s shoulders and clinging. The shock of changing equilibrium sends his vision swimming again just before he focuses only on Keith. 

“Keith!” he gasps. 

“Just relax,” Keith says, like what he’s doing hasn’t startled Shiro down to his core. He sounds remarkably casual about it all. “I’ve got you.” 

“I’m heavy…” 

Keith’s lip twitches with an almost-smile, like the mere suggestion is laughable. “I can handle your weight, Shiro.” 

“You’ll— you’ll throw out your back or something,” Shiro says weakly.

“I’m not an old man like you.” 

Keith’s smile is wicked, the tease coming so easily, and that makes Shiro feel like a real person again. It feels so much like being back at the Garrison, laughing together and worrying about nothing. Keith always was good at putting Shiro at ease, and he can’t help his bark of a laugh. His arm flexes around Keith’s neck, holding tight.

“You brat,” he laughs with far too much fondness. He sounds breathless and can only hope Keith will attribute it to his fatigue rather than the delight in Keith’s _everything._

Keith’s smile grows wider, although he says nothing more. 

The journey back to the Lions is a simple one. Keith never looks tired, never breaking a sweat as he carries Shiro. He makes it look effortlessly easy, like Shiro isn’t nearly twice his weight. 

They must make quite the sight together— Keith carrying a man taller and wider than him and Shiro looking starstruck. Keith moves in that same fluid gracefulness he always does, his hold on Shiro secure and never wavering. 

Shiro’s never been picked up before. Not like this. 

Shiro knows the feeling of weightlessness well— the way it feels to float through space in a craft without artificial gravity. He knows what it feels like to fall, swept away by forces far stronger than him. But Keith holding him up is nothing like that. He’s cosmically aware of his own weight, gravity draped around him, and still Keith carries him. There’s no falter in his step, no tremble in his arms. He carries Shiro and it’s nothing like floating. 

Shiro’s heart, though. It’s floating away from him, lodged up in his throat. He’s not sure what it is about this that makes him feel so vulnerable, so cradled. He leans against Keith’s chest and Keith only tightens his hold on him. 

“You’re, ah,” Shiro murmurs and he still sounds out-of-breath. He should really be embarrassed about that, but he can’t quite manage it. “You’re very strong, Keith.” 

Keith shrugs one shoulder, stepping around some uneven stones on the path back to the Lions. His eyes glance down and then back to Shiro. 

“Yeah, guess so.” 

Keith has a tendency to downplay his abilities and accomplishments, and this is no different. Keith never did see himself as remarkable, but Shiro’s entire world feels like it’s tilted on its axis. He’s always known Keith was strong, but it somehow never occurred to him that it might translate to Keith lifting and carrying him so easily. 

“… Thank you,” Shiro remembers to say as they round a corner of rocky outcroppings at the mouth of the alcove the Lions charge within. 

Shiro doesn’t loosen his hold on Keith’s neck, unwilling to let go just yet. He doesn’t want this to end, he realizes with a small glimmer of shock. 

“You don’t have to thank me,” Keith says with that gentleness he always gifts Shiro. “But you’re welcome. I’ll always be here when you need me.”

It’s so earnestly said. Shiro’s heart does that funny little quiver in his chest, the way it always does when he looks into Keith’s eyes. He’s sure his smile must be moony— and all he wants to do is kiss him. 

Shiro forces a breathless little laugh instead, shifting his hand to tug playfully on a piece of Keith’s hair. It’s one of the longer bits that curl at the back of his neck after he’s freshly washed his hair. 

“I meant, thanks for not lifting me in a fireman carry.” 

It makes Keith huff the quietest laugh, his hold tightening on Shiro protectively. Shiro loves that laugh so much— Keith goes husky on the tail-end of it, tapering off into a soft purr. It always feels like a punch to the solar plexus whenever Shiro hears it.

Keith shakes his head, eyes soft. “You deserve to be treated gently, Shiro.” 

They reach the Black Lion and Shiro figures that will be the end of it. But as they approach her, and she bows her head to welcome them, Keith still doesn’t set Shiro down. Instead, he carries Shiro all the way inside, and doesn’t set Shiro down until he reaches one of the bunks. 

Shiro lets out a sigh, missing the perfect encompassing of Keith’s arms around him. He looks up at Keith, his smile a little flicker. “You saved me again.” 

“If keeping you from a long walk is saving,” Keith answers, the affection saturating his voice. 

Keith’s hand lifts, touching Shiro’s hair to brush it back from his face. When his fingertips graze along Shiro’s jaw, he only just manages to restrain a shiver. It’s an accidental touch, but it’s touches like these that always set Shiro on fire. He always touches Shiro so easily. Shiro never sees him touch anyone else like that, and in his quieter moments, it lets Shiro hope. 

He longs to lean against Keith’s palms. He longs to catch Keith’s hand and press a kiss to his fingertips. He’s far too used to longing when it comes to Keith. It’s become such a part of him that it feels as intrinsic as breathing, as smiling when he sees Keith’s face. 

“You always save me,” Shiro whispers. 

Keith smiles at him, his expression softening. 

“Always,” Keith promises. A moment of quiet settles between them, intimate and comfortable. And then Keith tilts his head, his eyes so deep and so intense as he looks at Shiro. “You alright?” 

Shiro always wants to get lost in those eyes. “Yes.” He could leave it at that, but curiosity gets the better of him and he can’t help but ask: “Are your arms tired?” 

Satisfied that Shiro’s okay, Keith leans back. He swings one arm, rolling his shoulder. He flexes and although there’s no bulge of muscles through the Paladin armor, it still makes Shiro hiccup a laugh. Keith chuckles as he drops his arms. 

“Like I said. I can handle you.” 

Keith grins then, just the edge of too much fang flashing through the smile. If Shiro listens quietly, he thinks he can hear Keith purring, a deep rumble muffled by his Paladin armor.

The words make Shiro flush. 

It’s all too much. The flex of Keith’s muscles, the ease with which he carried Shiro. He hadn’t stumbled once. His arms hadn’t shaken. His breath hadn’t come out faster. He’d been calm as he carried Shiro— like Shiro was no sort of burden. 

Shiro really can’t stop thinking about it.

-

In the wake of the final battle— when they _know_ the war is won— Keith is a brilliant, remarkable star. He grins, laughing so brightly, and slams right into Shiro.

The force of it sends Shiro skidding back a couple inches but all he can do is laugh, too, overwhelmed with the sheer relief overflowing between all of the Paladins. Keith drags Shiro into the tightest hug he’s ever experienced, the force of it nearly knocking Shiro off his feet. He doesn’t have to worry, though— Keith just laughs again, thready with a purr and too much emotion, and sweeps Shiro up into a spinning-hug. 

It’s so unexpected but in the best way possible: Shiro’s feet leave the ground as Keith spins with him, and Shiro’s crying through his happy laughter— relief, delight, liberation. They’re all here. They’re all together. They’re _alive._

He clings tight to Keith and lets himself be spun, his arms folded around Keith’s shoulders. He feels buoyant, like if it weren’t for Keith’s arms around him, he might just float away. It’s like a whirlwind, like being tumbled through water by a massive wave— no control and weightless. 

It’s so much like that day in the moon-forest with Keith carrying him home. Shiro remembers the perfect curve of Keith’s arms, how easily he held him up. He remembers the weightless expectation of being carried, held secure and helpless and unwavering, never fearing he’d be dropped. 

He’ll remember this moment, too— this moment of Keith twirling with him as they laugh, the tears beading between them. Shiro clings to Keith’s shoulders and laughs and laughs and _laughs._

It’s amazing. Everything— amazing. 

Even once Keith finishes spinning them, he holds Shiro up, laughing as he looks at him, all the light in the universe shining in his eyes. Shiro plants his hands on Keith’s shoulders, looking down at him.

Keith has never looked more beautiful and all Shiro wants to do is look, to memorize the shape of Keith’s happiness. Shiro’s feet dangle, toes barely skimming the ground, and Keith’s arms are wrapped securely around Shiro’s waist as he grins up at him, all feral delight and swimming relief. His eyes threaten to overflow with tears and again the urge to lurch down and kiss him tumbles through Shiro. 

Instead, he lifts his hands from Keith’s shoulders to cup his cheeks. He swipes the growing tears away, his thumbs skimming across Keith’s cheekbones. He knows he mirrors the expression, his smile wobbly but no less felt. 

“We won,” Keith says in a gasp, his voice thick with honeyed gravel.

“We won,” Shiro agrees. His thumb presses into the perfect curve of Keith’s scar, puckered up with his smile. He whispers, far too hushed, “You should spin me again.” 

His heart leaps into his throat when Keith obeys, spinning Shiro until they’re both dizzy. Still Keith never wavers, the both of them laughing until their throats go hoarse with happiness. 

-

Keith’s strength is, apparently, a thing for Shiro. 

Of course, most things about Keith are a _thing_ for Shiro— he’s used to that. He’s used to feeling weak-kneed over Keith’s smile or breathless over the way his eyes glint in the starlight of the galaxy. He’s used to the rush of affection and love whenever Keith says anything— a joke, a vow, even a moody aside. Everything about Keith makes Shiro _happy_ , overwhelmed in a way he’s never really let himself feel before.

But now that Shiro’s noticed Keith’s strength, he can’t _stop_ noticing it. It’s the small things, each one piling into a catalogue of gratitude— every moment that Shiro gets to experience and appreciate. 

It’s that Keith can catch people mid-air whenever Atlas hits turbulence, the entire cabin flipping— small detritus and bodies flinging through the air. 

(Keith catches Coran by his collar the first time it ever happens, his hold secure, keeping him from smashing entirely into a wall. And Shiro should be _relieved_ that Coran is safe, not turned on by the fact that Keith managed to pluck someone out of the air effortlessly, without so much as a strain or grunt of pain.)

It’s that Keith can bench-press far more than any other one of the Paladins, Shiro included, and he can do it without breaking a sweat. 

(Shiro nearly drops one of the weights as he stacks them on the end as he spots for Keith. But Keith just stares up at him as he works, breathing evenly through his nose, his arms straining with the weight of it. It’s the sexiest thing Shiro’s ever seen in his life and it takes all his restraint not to just climb on top of Keith’s hips and pin him down onto the bench, to kiss the breath from his lungs so that Shiro might finally, finally hear what he sounds like when Keith is winded.) 

It’s that Keith can lift the wolf over his head to get her to move. 

(During a movie night, when she falls asleep on top of them and refuses to budge, even when Keith pokes her and tells her to move because Shiro can’t breathe. When she still fails to listen, Keith just hoists her up over his head until she whines, teleporting away to steal Shiro’s bed instead.)

It’s that Keith can lift things like couches one-handed, like when helping Pidge to move the furniture from her quarters into a new room. 

(Shiro walks in on him surveying the couch, hands on his hips, and nearly drops a box of delicate, fragile equipment when Keith just leans over the couch’s back, circles his arm around the middle of it, and lifts it up as easily as one would a footstool. Shiro definitely stares and definitely gapes and definitely looks stupid, especially when Keith turns around and gives Shiro a perplexed, if amused, look in return.) 

Shiro’s always known that Keith is strong. He’s seen the ways he’s been strong. But the more he notices, the more it encompasses his waking thoughts. 

The more he sees it, the more he wants Keith to pick him up again. 

-

With the end of the war, things fall into place— mundanity and remarkability all at once. Shiro welcomes it, welcomes the much-needed relaxation and reprieve he and his friends so desperately need. Hunk starts hosting weekly dinners with his family. Pidge starts experimenting with hybrid tech between Terran technology and Olkari technology. Lance takes up ballroom dancing. Allura learns how to knit and makes them all scarves longer than any of her friends are tall. 

It’s all easy and simple. There’s talk of a Paladin road trip on the horizon and Lance has been trying to rope Shiro into the ballroom dancing lessons over the past few weeks. 

Shiro smiles to himself when the chime to his door rings, interrupting his thoughts. He moves to the door to enter the acceptance code, already knowing who will be on the other side. 

“Hey,” Keith says as the doors open, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed. He’s the perfect picture of _effortlessly attractive._ “Ready to get going?” 

Shiro knows he should answer, but he can’t stop staring at Keith. He’s out of uniform today, prepared for their planned day of hoverbike racing and just enjoying some post-war, off-Atlas time together. The other Paladins might have their activities, but Shiro and Keith have been content to just relax and meander. Shiro’s never felt more luxurious than wasting a day just hanging out with Keith, watching a movie or hoverbike racing or doing absolutely nothing at all.

Today, Keith wears casual clothes, the clingy shirt highlighting his figure in the best way possible. The fabric hugs his frame, and his pose makes him look like he’s modeling. Shiro can’t stop staring at him, at the lovely slope of his shoulders, the brace of his arms, the decadent definition of his chest, the slim handful of his waist. Every inch of him is _perfect._

Shiro can see the devastating outline of Keith’s muscles, the strong flex of his arms, simply because of the short-sleeved shirt. It’s infinitely distracting. Have Keith’s arms always been so defined? Shiro has no idea and he can’t recall the last time he saw Keith in a short-sleeve shirt rather than a clingy undersuit or long-sleeved uniform. 

How easy it’d be for Keith to just pin him to the wall with those strong arms. How easily he’s seen Keith pick up anything in his way. Keith is _strong_ and it consumes Shiro’s waking thoughts. 

Keith’s eyebrows rise towards his hairline when a moment passes with Shiro just silently gaping. Shiro flounders, but it’s too late— the smile slips off Keith’s face and his eyes fill with concern as he straightens off the doorframe and steps into the room.

His hand moves to cup Shiro’s elbow. “Hey,” he says again, the tone far different this time. “Are you okay?” 

“Yeah, Keith,” Shiro says but he sounds too husky. He forces himself to breathe, willing his heart to stop pounding so fast. “Just… got stuck in my thoughts.”

He feels bad calling up such an excuse, especially when it does little to dissuade Keith’s worries— he can see the flicker of concern burning bright in Keith’s eyes. 

“Are you sure?” 

Keith steps into the room fully, crowding closer to Shiro and letting the door shut behind him. It puts them both in the half-dark of Shiro’s quarters, intimate and private. Keith’s hand lingers on Shiro’s elbow, like he isn’t sure where else to reach. His other hand hangs limp at his side. 

Those hands have held Shiro up before. Those hands have carried him across a distance that would make anyone else exhausted. Keith has spun him around and lingered on his waist, fingers digging down against his skin, tight enough that it nearly bruised. Shiro’s body is a roadmap waiting for all the places Keith might travel across his skin. 

Shiro’s quiet for a beat too long, still staring at Keith, his eyes dragging. He keeps doing that when it comes to Keith. 

“We can reschedule,” Keith says, brow crinkled. “If you need to rest—” 

Shiro shakes his head, snapping his eyes away from Keith’s tiny waist to look him in the eye instead. “I’m fine. I promise.”

Keith frowns deeper, looking thoroughly unconvinced. “You shouldn’t push yourself.” 

Keith’s concern isn’t unwarranted— sometimes Shiro does start to feel light-headed or overwhelmed. It’s a consequence of his mind-link with Atlas. She’s still a new sentience, overwhelming and encompassing. She isn’t quite sure how to balance herself in Shiro’s mind, not the way the Lions can after such a long-standing existence. Atlas does her best, but it’s the difference between a stately, older cat and a hyperactive, overexcited Labrador. Shiro loves Atlas, but she can be exhausting if he isn’t careful with his own mental shields. 

Shiro laughs, overly fond. His hand fumbles as he reaches to take Keith’s hand off his elbow, their fingers tangling together for just a moment as he squeezes. 

“Keith, if I start to feel light-headed, I’m sure you’ll be the first one to notice.” 

That finally earns Shiro a smile. Keith snorts very softly and looks down, his cheeks dusting a faint pink and his eyelashes fanning out across his cheekbones. His hair has gotten longer recently, and he’s unfairly pretty. Shiro’s not sure if it’s possible for Keith to look anything but beautiful, in fairness. 

“You’re right,” Keith says. When he glances back up at Shiro, his eyes are intense— far more intense than such a mundane discussion should warrant. He squeezes Shiro’s hand tight and even that feels like a display of power, to know how easily Keith might crush his fingers with his own and yet doesn’t. “I won’t ever let anything happen to you.”

Shiro always loves that about Keith— just how intense he can get. Even the smallest statements can feel like cosmically important vows coming from Keith’s lips. Shiro loves his intensity, his dedication, his power. The confidence rolls off him in waves now and Shiro loves that most of all. He loves the man Keith’s become, the leader he’s become. When Keith says something, he means it.

“And,” Shiro adds like it’s a joke and not something he’s been thinking about for days, “if I get too tired, you can always carry me back home.” 

Keith laughs again, pinching the back of Shiro’s hand in a gentle tease. “That’s me. Your personal taxi-service.” 

Shiro hates how his stupid heart does a little quiver in his chest. It keeps doing that, too, when it comes to Keith. 

“I bet—” Shiro says before he can think better of it and quickly cuts himself off.

Keith tilts his head. “What?” 

“Nothing. Never mind.” 

“No,” Keith says, laughing. “Tell me.” 

“I was going to say— I bet you couldn’t carry me all the way down to the hangar,” Shiro says. He already knows Keith could. He’s seen Keith carry heavier things for longer. Keith could bench-press the space wolf for three hours and probably skip off afterwards without a single muscle twinge. 

Keith rolls his eyes and then narrows them, almost theatrical in his reaction. “Oh yeah? And what do I get if I win that bet?” 

Shiro licks his lips, feeling his cheeks heat with a blush. He’s grateful for the relative darkness of his room to disguise the reaction. “What do you want?” 

Keith hums, lost in thought for a moment. “You know I’m no good at that part.”

Keith doesn’t leave Shiro to dither. He steps forward, wraps his arm around Shiro, and hoists him up. Even though he’s prepared for it, Shiro still gasps as he’s thrown over Keith’s shoulder, Keith’s arms braced along the tops of his thighs to keep him slung over.

Shiro laughs as Keith starts walking, kicking his feet. “Wait—! At least do it like before!”

“Keep that up and I’ll do the fireman carry instead,” Keith teases. He holds tight to Shiro, keeping him balanced over his shoulder. His arm is so close to Shiro’s ass, but the position is uncomfortable enough that Shiro doesn’t fully appreciate that little detail.

But damn, he feels warm all over as Keith just casually strolls towards the elevators heading down to the hangar, once again holding Shiro up like he weighs nothing.

“Keith, come on—” Shiro says, his voice strained with desire. He kicks his feet again, hitting nothing but air. “If someone sees me like this—” 

“Don’t make bets you aren’t prepared to pay up, Shirogane,” Keith says, patting the back of his thigh. It makes Shiro nearly shudder, biting his lip to swallow a sound. “I’ll show you up every time.”

“Damn,” Shiro breathes. “You really will, huh?”

Keith laughs, completely unaware of what he’s doing to Shiro. It makes Shiro flush all the more, leaning heavily against Keith’s shoulder and enjoying the casual display of strength, the secure hold of Keith’s arm around him. He closes his eyes, feeling every movement of Keith’s body as he transports them both down through Atlas. 

It’s probably the fact that it’s seemingly no big deal to Keith that makes it all the more attractive to Shiro. It’s as natural as walking beside Shiro— just carrying him down through the hallways. Part of Shiro has to wonder what Keith _would_ do if someone were to see them. 

“You’re so strong.” Shiro sounds far, far too graveled out when he says it. He holds his breath, hoping Keith won’t notice Shiro’s casual breakdown. 

Keith laughs again. He pats Shiro’s thigh, more firmly this time. “Strong enough for you, big guy.”

Shiro absolutely refuses to whimper. 

By the time they get down to the hangar, Shiro gives up all hope on having any semblance of a calm demeanor. His cheeks are red and they’re going to stay red. He forces a laugh when Keith sets him back down on his feet easily, his hand lingering on Shiro’s hip before he draws back. Shiro sways a little on his feet, struck by Keith’s pleased grin, the smallest lick of a purr nestled deep in his chest. 

“If you were concerned about making me light-headed, I don’t think carrying me like a sack of potatoes helps much,” Shiro says.

Keith smiles up at him, humming in question. “You’re okay, right?”

“Never better,” Shiro says. 

“Then we’re good.” 

Shiro chuckles. “And you also proved me wrong. So… what’s your prize?” 

Keith chuckles, looking away with a delicate shrug. He moves towards the hoverbike, calling out over his shoulder: “I get to drive.” He swings himself up onto the bike and pats the spot behind him. “And you get to hang on for the ride.”

“Hardly a huge prize.”

Keith grins and pats the spot again wordlessly. Shiro shakes his head fondly as he climbs up, settling behind Keith and wrapping his arms around his slim waist. That, too, feels like a decadence he so rarely affords himself. Keith’s waist is so slim beneath his palms, Shiro’s almost tempted to try wrapping his hands around the smallest part to see if his fingers would meet. He settles for a more neutral hold, closing his eyes and not letting himself pretend there’s any significant reason why Keith leans back against his chest just before he revs the engine.

The hoverbike flares to life and it only takes the tiniest flick of Shiro’s chin to remind Atlas to open the hangar doors. Keith zips them out quick as a flash, the whip of the open air sliding over them and the beat of the midday sun warming the path. 

Keith driving a hoverbike is always a brilliant thing to witness. The vehicle is massive, difficult to navigate sometimes, but Keith’s always been exceptional when it comes to controlling it. The bike bows and moves with him, the two of them turning into the curves and following the weaving pathways made by ancient rivers through the canyons. Keith is a natural and Shiro thrills in being able to hang on for the ride.

They both cheer as they soar over the familiar cliff on their favorite path, Keith letting out a whoop of triumph as they launch back down towards the ground only for him to rear back up at the last moment to cushion the descent. 

Shiro holds tight, laughing in Keith’s ear, the whip of the wind on his face and the sensuous curve of Keith’s body moving so fluidly as they navigate. Keith feels like an extension of the hoverbike, of the very desert they fly through— powerful, unknowable, and brilliant. 

Shiro’s still breathless by the time they park, Keith turning around to grin at him, seeking his praise and delight. He searches Shiro’s face, and Shiro thinks he must be looking for more of Shiro’s light-headedness from earlier. 

He won’t find it. Instead of spacey, Keith’s left Shiro sparking to life like a livewire. He wants Keith to throw him across the desert sands, wants him to toss him over his shoulder, wants him to pin him down. Anything. Everything. The fantasies flit across the back of his mind, helpless little images that Shiro doesn’t let himself linger on.

“Shiro?” Keith asks when Shiro makes no move to hop off the hoverbike. Keith lands with a dull thud, turning on his heel to look up at him with his head tilted. “Worried about getting your boots dusty?”

Shiro kicks his feet out, snorting. The sand and dust in the desert _are_ relentless forces and are hardly kind to any boots that aren’t already earth-toned, but the tease is obvious. Shiro’s never much cared for such things. If anything, Shiro delights in the opportunity to dirty his pristine work boots. 

Instead of saying any of that, Shiro just bats his eyelashes. 

“How’d you guess?” Shiro pops his foot out, his hands braced on the hoverbike seat so he can point his toe in a pristine dancer’s pose. “I’m like a Victorian lady at a puddle. If only I had a big, strong man to set down a jacket for me.” 

“If only,” Keith says, rolling his eyes. There’s no heat in the gesture, his smile bright as he braces his hands on his hips. “Want me to carry you again?”

 _Yes,_ is the embarrassing answer, but Shiro shakes his head with a hearty chuckle. “You’re going to spoil me if you keep offering. Don’t worry, this damsel can handle some dust.” 

There’s something positively flirty about Keith’s starbright eyes, although Shiro doesn’t allow himself to believe that’s really what it is. Keith grins up at him and practically purrs, “What sort of gentleman would I be if I didn’t insist?” 

He even does a flourishing little bow, one hand offered up to Shiro. He’s the perfect image of a Victorian gentleman— if a Victorian gentleman had wild hair and a tight-fitting short-sleeved shirt, just the slightest bit damp with sweat. When Keith straightens again, he lifts his arms up, holding out to Shiro like he might offer him down to Earth again just like that. 

Shiro swings his other leg over the side of the hoverbike and hesitates. Keith just grins up at him, arms outstretched. Shiro sighs, laughing to himself, and sits up straighter. He does his own little flourish, pressing the back of his hand to his forehead like he might swoon just like any proper Victorian lady. 

“Well, if you _insist,_ ” he demurs. 

“I do.” 

Shiro closes his eyes and swoons forward, a dramatic tip— he knows Keith will catch him before he actually injures himself. And yet, somehow, despite this ridiculousness, he’s still taken by surprise when Keith catches him and swings him up bridal-style. 

Shiro’s maybe a little embarrassed that it makes him gasp, anyway. 

“S- such a gentleman,” Shiro says when he manages words again. He clings to Keith, his arm thrown around the back of his shoulders to anchor him close. 

“For you, always,” Keith says with a wink. 

And it’s a good thing Keith is carrying him, because seeing him wink would have made Shiro trip over his own feet or something equally as stupid. 

Shiro half-expects Keith to set him down again. Instead, Keith just carries him to their usual spot overlooking the canyon below— their favorite place to sit and stargaze, birdwatch, or simply sit and talk. 

“I don’t have a jacket to set down for you, though,” Keith says. 

Shiro notices his hand lingering on Keith’s bicep and nearly snatches it away. He gulps, sliding it up to rest against Keith’s shoulder again, hoping it’s at least somewhat subtle. 

“You do the best you can, Keith,” Shiro says. 

Keith’s mouth flicks up in one corner, a smile that doesn’t quite form. “This isn’t too strange, right?”

Shiro puzzles at the question, fingers curling a little in Keith’s tight shirt. He shakes his head quickly. “It’s— kind of nice.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Shiro says.

He’s unsure how to put it into words— the helplessness of it, yes, but the sort of helplessness that makes him feel invincible. He’s always felt strange with vulnerability, like it doesn’t quite sit right within his skin. With Keith, it never feels like an anchor, like the sort of helplessness that’s suffocating, the sort of paralysis that tightens around his throat and leaves him drowning. Instead, it feels like comfort. It feels like falling and knowing, always, that he’ll be caught. He’s never actually _liked_ feeling helpless before— but leave it to Keith to make him rethink that. 

“I— I do like it,” Shiro admits. 

Keith reaches their spot, standing there as he cradles Shiro securely. He seems to hesitate, lingering there for just a breath before he finally sets Shiro back down. Even then, his hand ghosts against Shiro’s hip, a feather-light touch Shiro nearly misses for the fabric between their skin. 

Shiro smiles at Keith, knowing he looks absolutely besotted. Keith looks at him, drawing in a slow breath. Shiro thinks he might be purring, but he isn’t sure. If he is, it’s low enough that Shiro can’t quite hear it. 

“I’m glad you think so,” Keith finally answers, squeezing Shiro’s hip and smiling back. 

-

Shiro’s list of Keith Being Strong only grows.

Yes, there’s the way Keith catches people mid-air, the way he bench-presses insane weights, the way he lifts the space wolf in the air, the way he carries couches, the way he holds Shiro. 

But now, there’s also the way he does pull-ups in the doorway to Shiro’s office when he’s waiting for Shiro to wrap up work. 

It first happens when Shiro’s running behind on his schedule, already ten minutes late to a planned lunch break with Keith. Keith knocks on the doorframe to alert Shiro to his presence and Shiro mutes himself on the teleconference on his PADD to smile apologetically over at him. 

“The war’s won, Shiro,” Keith says. “It can wait.”

“I’m almost done,” Shiro says, trying not to stare too blatantly at the casual way Keith’s hip pops or the way he leans against the doorframe. He’s always so devastatingly handsome, it’s alarming. 

“Uh huh.” 

Keith looks unimpressed. Shiro nearly cringes. 

He sighs and unmutes himself when he notes the lull in the conversation. “Yes, that sounds great, Sam. What else?” 

Sam Holt nods and continues his coverage report. Shiro tries not to zone out too blatantly, listening and trying to ignore the way Keith stares at him disapprovingly. He’s not actually a workaholic, but today’s been a busy day. 

And then Keith straightens his back and hops up, hooking his hands along the edge of the door and starts lifting himself in a series of reps.

Shiro’s Altean hand nearly crushes his PADD in his shock. He stops mid-sentence in whatever he’s saying, but Sam is too polite to call Shiro out on it. It’s exceptionally kind of him, really, considering Shiro’s just gaping blatantly at Keith across the room. 

_Hurry up,_ Keith mouths at him as he works, his legs tucked up as he swings himself up and back down again. He’s all fluid motion, lifting and lowering himself, his biceps popping and his shoulders flexing as he moves. The curve of his smile is a bored half-smirk and his hair swings in time to his lifts. 

Shiro kind of wants Keith to just keep going so he can see how far he can go. When Keith lifts himself up and then lets himself lower back down, his shirt shifts enough to expose a delicious sliver of his belly. 

Shiro’s staring. He knows he’s staring. He just hopes Keith will attribute it to staring into space. He hopes Sam will forgive him for focusing on far more interesting matters. Shiro thinks he finishes out the conversation with some ease, but he has no idea what he says or what he agrees to.

“Come on,” Keith says, still doing his pull-ups even once Shiro hangs up with Sam. “I’m hungry and tired of waiting.”

“You don’t—” Shiro swallows, his voice strangled and husky. He watches Keith lift and lower himself. “You didn’t have to wait for me.”

Keith hums as he curls his body up towards the top of the door and then drops himself down again, nimble and sure. He lands back on his feet and rolls his shoulders once before he tucks his hands into his pockets. He looks thoroughly unconcerned, like he didn’t just give Shiro a big, gay crisis during a work meeting. Keith shrugs, thoroughly unaware of just how brutally he’s punched Shiro in the gut with desire. 

“I’d rather be with you,” Keith says. 

Shiro blushes. He reminds himself not to read into the phrasing of that. Keith’s always been intense, especially about their friendship. That’s not about to stop. 

After that, though, Keith does the same routine whenever he visits Shiro and has to wait for longer than thirty seconds before Shiro pays attention to him. 

Even by the fifth time he does it, Shiro isn’t prepared. He absolutely does not make sure his meetings run a little long for the brief hope Keith might show up and get tired of waiting for him, resorting to dumb exercises using his doorframe. 

Shiro tells himself he’s not the least bit pathetic for it. He’s not quite sure he believes that. 

-

“You need to stop spacing out on me or else I really will kick your ass when we spar,” Keith teases the next weekend, shoving his elbow into Shiro’s side.

Shiro startles and then forces a laugh. He needs to get better at not getting stuck in his thoughts and blatantly staring at Keith— but that’s all he’s been doing lately. It’s what he’s been doing for the past five minutes, even. 

He has no real excuse. Keith’s always dominated his thoughts, but it’s been all the worse lately. 

Then again, he also keeps reminding himself that it’s good to enjoy all the little moments of living— to find joy in having a corporeal body at all. Random bouts of desire fall under such a category, too. Probably. 

It’s a joy and a privilege to look at Keith. He knows he’ll never actually say that out loud. Even if Keith were receptive to the idea, he’d laugh in Shiro’s face over the sappiness of the thought. But it _is_ what Shiro thinks. 

And, well, Shiro’s never going to stop being grateful for even being in Keith’s presence. He loves any moment he gets to spend with Keith. They’ve traveled the universe together, gone through hell and back for each other, and he’s thankful for the little moments he gets. He’s happy when they get to just hang out and simply be. The rest of the Paladins have their projects (Lance is still trying to convince Shiro to go ballroom dancing), but Shiro’s content to spend his days doing the mundane with Keith. 

“Stop trying to psyche me out,” Shiro says with a little shake of his head. “You know I’m going to make you work for it.” 

Keith huffs a laugh, hand on his hip. 

They’re on their way to the gym and Shiro’s been looking forward to it. Even with peacetime, Shiro still has work to do and a lot of meetings. It feels like it’s been ages since he got to properly train with Keith or to just enjoy sparring with him. Most of their outings have been movie-nights in, or lunch breaks together, or the occasional hoverbike. It’s been a while since he’s actually been able to put his body to work. 

It’s something of a tradition between them now and Keith’s told him plenty of times how much he enjoys working out with Shiro. It reminds Shiro so much of the days long past at the Garrison or even battling bots on the Castleship. 

Selfishly, Shiro’s head swims with the images of Keith throwing him around and pinning him down. 

And just as one glowing thought of Keith pinning him down, muscles flexing, starts to take centerstage of Shiro’s attention, the elevator leading down towards Atlas’ training center lurches to a sudden halt. Shiro snaps his hand out to steady Keith before he can think about it, but Keith is solid on his feet, already turning to look back at him in concern. 

“Is Atlas okay?” Keith asks. 

Shiro nods. He can feel her in his mind, but when he prods to ask why the elevator’s stopped, she turns cagey. He keeps prodding at her, relentless, his brow furrowing. If she’s hurt, if she’s shutting down, if he hasn’t been maintaining their link well enough— but, no, finally he hears one crisp, almost petulant thought: _Have Keith take care of it for you._

Shiro really should be mortified that his sentient ship has his number. _What?_

 _I didn’t stop the elevator,_ she answers, certainly pouting now. Black never used to back-sass him like this. 

Shiro feels his ears turn bright red as Keith peers at him in alarm.

“Um,” Shiro says, turning to look at the door and very, very pointedly ignoring Keith’s eyes or the pitying-smugness of his sentient ship flitting along the back of his mind. “These little things are hard for her to fix on her own without prompting. Kind of like how it’s hard to take out a splinter without tweezers, you know?” 

Keith chews on the inside of his cheek, letting out a small, concerned sigh. He frowns towards the door. “Well. What now?” 

Shiro could scold Atlas. He could insist she release them and let them go about their day. He could adamantly deny that his secret thoughts implored her to stop the elevator specifically to see what Keith would do about it. 

Shiro stares at Keith’s back, watching Keith survey the door, and hears himself say, “You could get them open, right?” 

Keith turns away from the elevator doors to look at Shiro instead, his eyebrows shooting up towards his hairline. “Huh?” 

“You’re strong,” Shiro says with devastating calm. He blinks at Keith, unsure why his heart hasn’t started galloping away from him yet. “You could get them open, right?” 

“Well, yeah,” Keith says without missing a beat, still looking utterly confused. “That wouldn’t hurt her, would it?” 

Now that Shiro’s said it, he can’t take it back. Now that he’s thought about it, he can’t think of anything else. He nods towards the doors. “Go on.” 

Keith frowns at him. He studies his face for a moment, his brows setting, and then he turns back to the doors. Shiro might actually gasp as he watches Keith set one foot behind him to brace himself, hands shifting up the sleek metal of Atlas’ doors, just before he wrenches the elevator doors apart. 

Keith’s wearing his gym clothes today, a loose-fitting racer-back tee that shows off all his very lickable back and arm muscles, and it gives Shiro a full view of every shift of Keith’s body as he shoulders the elevator doors open. Shiro stares blatantly as Keith pushes with a deep grunt of concentration. 

It’s over in seconds, but the image sears itself into Shiro’s mind. It’s one thing for Keith to look so effortlessly attractive in his low ponytail and gym clothes, pushing doors open with the perfect flex and bulge of his muscles. 

But the grunt. The grunt stabs Shiro right in the gut. His mouth goes dry as Keith straightens back and dusts his hands. The doors stay open. Shiro can feel Atlas’ smugness in the back of his mind. 

Shiro has never heard Keith grunt like that before. Shiro wants to hear all the sounds he can make, in any situation. 

“There we go,” Keith says in a low murmur once he’s sure the doors will stay propped open. He turns to Shiro. “That didn’t hurt her, right?”

“What?”

“Atlas,” Keith says. He frowns, studying Shiro’s face. “Are both of you okay?” 

“Yep,” Shiro gasps. “Never better.” He pauses a moment too long, just staring at Keith. “Wow.” 

Shiro really needs to get a better hold of himself before he betrays his feelings for Keith in these moments. The problem is Keith just keeps making it look so _easy._ Shiro knows it’s anything but and that’s what makes it worse. 

“Come on,” Keith says, taking Shiro’s hand and tugging. “Before the doors shut again.” 

Shiro stumbles out of the elevator, still staring at Keith with his mouth hanging open. He must look like a complete fool. Keith doesn’t let go of his hand, hovering near him as they start walking. His hold on Shiro’s hand is tight, an anchor point that guides Shiro forward. Maybe he thinks Shiro’s gone light-headed again. 

Maybe he has, although certainly not for the reasons Keith thinks. 

“Should we wait on sparring?” Keith asks when Shiro still stays silent.

Shiro shakes his head quickly, snapping out of his stupid thoughts. “No! No… I’ve been looking forward to spending time with you all week.”

Keith’s smile is a grateful little curl, his eyes shining. “Yeah. Me too. But—”

“I swear, I’m fine,” Shiro says, squeezing Keith’s hand tight. “Just took me by surprise. The elevator.” He clears his throat, his cheeks still warm from his blush. “When’d you get so strong, huh?” 

The question seems to stun Keith. He ducks his head, letting go of Shiro’s hand in favor of fiddling with his hair, tightening up his ponytail seemingly to give himself something to do. Shiro misses the weight of his hand almost immediately, drifting closer to him like a wayward satellite to its planet. 

“I mean, I’ve always been able to do things like that, I think,” Keith says, voice soft with thought. “It was just normal for me. But, uhh, you know.” There’s the briefest pause, somewhat awkward. Keith shrugs. “Puberty and all that. You know.” 

“Oh,” Shiro says, and tries very hard not to think about Keith and puberty. “Of course.” 

“Don’t worry,” Keith says with a dismissive wave of his hand, the bravado returning just as quickly as it darted away. “I’ll go easy on you.”

He jerks his head towards the gym’s entrance, his grin blooming. There’s the whisper of fangs and Shiro loves that change that comes over Keith, how quickly he slides into his confidence. He wants to win, and he knows he can win. There’s nothing hotter than that. 

“You’ve never gone easy on me and you never will.” Shiro shoves his shoulder against Keith’s, although Keith doesn’t even budge from where he stands. “You know better than to hold back.” 

Keith grins wider at him, something almost feral burning in his eyes. The door to the gym wooshes open as they enter together. Shiro wants to bite Keith’s smiling mouth. He wants to feel the curve of Keith’s fangs against his skin, wants to feel what it’s like to kiss Keith when he’s purring, gloating in his victory. 

Shiro is good at self-denial. He’s good at striving for what he needs to accomplish and shelving everything else. He’s good at sacrificing his own needs for the betterment of others— of the team, of the universe, of whatever it might be. That’s just how he’s lived his life. He’s used to wanting but never getting. 

Right now, all he really wants is for Keith to show him just how strong he really is. 

Maybe that’s just one of the reasons why he loves sparring with Keith. They move through the gym towards the back, commandeering their usual mat— padded, wide, and often empty of others. They kick off their boots and pluck off their socks, stretching out on the mat to warm up with a few practice stretches and lunges. This, Shiro knows how to do— he stretches, loosening up and moving into the sensuality of it. 

He and Keith used to spar all the time. They let it fall to the wayside after their fight at the clone facility— everything still too fresh, too painful. Shiro had been afraid, perhaps, of it all being too much like before, of losing control, of triggering something pulled too deep from within him. 

But moving with Keith, sparring with Keith like this— it’s like dancing, like breathing. Everything they’ve done has always been in sync, and they know each other well. It feels as natural and easy as walking beside Keith, reaching for Keith, opening his eyes and seeing Keith there. 

Shiro moves and Keith is there. That’s how it’s always been— the two of them rising to meet each other. Their first rounds are always like that— a coming and a going. It’s like that now, too, as they move seamlessly from warming up to moving together. Keith lunges and Shiro dodges away. Shiro swipes for Keith and Keith rolls out of his reach. 

Keith growls softly when he first gets Shiro pinned to the mat. His body drapes against Shiro’s and it’s so sudden, so forceful, that it’s not getting slammed down to the mat that makes Shiro lose his breath, but the perfect press of Keith’s body to his. 

“You going to yield?” Keith breathes against the shell of his ear.

They’ve barely warmed up. Shiro doesn’t usually let himself get pinned so early. His desire to get thrown around and picked up by Keith aside, Shiro’s also stubborn— he’s never been one to throw a fight, and he’s not about to start now. He grunts and shoves back against Keith, catching Keith in the side and making him disengage to keep from getting pinned himself. 

They roll together, losing their equilibrium, and Shiro grins at Keith and gets the flash of fangs in answer, Keith’s eyes dark and focused solely on Shiro. They roll back onto their feet and start again. 

Shiro sucks in a sharp breath as they move, weaving around each other. He’s used to desiring Keith, used to loving their sparring a bit too much, but everything feels like a burning ember about to rage out of control. Keith is always a force of nature. It’s impossible to pin him down until he tires out, but Shiro’s always been patient. It’s how he tends to win their sparring matches— Keith is light on his feet and dodges easily, but he gets reckless when impatient. 

It’s agony, sometimes, to fight Keith— the way Keith comes into his space and presses close to him, the way Keith pants and curses as he squirms, grappling with Shiro. The way he looks when Shiro catches him off-guard, sweeping him off his feet and his hair streaming around him. 

They’re relentlessly competitive— impossible to beat, neither ever willing to give up. Shiro rolls and Keith dives after him. Keith throws a punch and Shiro parries, bracing back to throw them both onto the mat. Keith rolls away and Shiro springs after him. 

Keith’s grin is a triumphant, dark stamp on his face, his hair wild around him, knocked loose from his ponytail. He is, without question, the hottest thing Shiro’s ever seen in his entire life. 

Time and again, Keith slams Shiro down onto the mat. Still, Shiro makes him work for it, and it’s a tried and true dance between the two of them. He’s not about to give up, no matter how good Keith looks above him. 

Shiro grunts as he’s slammed down again. He rolls back onto his feet and dives for Keith, but Keith only pivots and dodges around him. He catches Shiro in his weak spots and throws him down onto the mat again. He’s relentless. 

Shiro actually groans when Keith gets him down for the third time in so many minutes, pinning his arms above his head, his knees digging down against Shiro’s thighs to keep him splayed out. It’s devastating and brutal and _amazing._ Shiro’s left gasping for breath, his chest heaving and his body damp with sweat. 

He stares up at Keith, his eyes wide and likely far too dark with desire. He flexes his hands, shifting just a little, only for Keith to slam them back down again, his grip unrelenting around Shiro’s wrists. 

“Yield,” Keith growls above him, the same way he always does.

Shiro pants beneath Keith, staring up at him. He flexes his hands again, testing the strength of Keith’s hold. It holds firm, just as Shiro knew it would. Keith doesn’t even waver. 

Keith pants above him, the sweat on his brow making his hair cling there, giving him that perfect, wild look. It’s the first time in a while that Shiro’s actually seen him looking exhausted, and that’s its own secret thrill— to know he can pull this from Keith, to know that he can make him work. Shiro breathes heavily beneath him, their chests heaving, and all Shiro wants to do is get lost in Keith’s eyes— or lurch upward to kiss him.

“Do you yield?” Keith asks.

“No,” Shiro says, because he’s stubborn and he never fully yields until Keith forces it out of him. 

Keith stares at him, his lips parted as he gulps down breath. Shiro can’t tell from his expression whether he’s frustrated or pleased by Shiro’s answer, but he doesn’t look surprised. Keith regards him for a long moment and then leans back, the movement almost abrupt in its forcefulness. He releases Shiro’s hands long enough to sit up properly, straddling Shiro, and grabs the back of his shirt. Shiro’s eyes widen as Keith yanks the tee off over his head and tosses it away, leaving Shiro to ogle his bare, sweaty chest.

“Too hot,” Keith explains with a shrug, as if the two words are adequate. He sweeps his hair away from his face and then slams Shiro’s hands back down onto the mat. This time, when he speaks, there’s the raspy hitch of a purr in his throat: “Yield?” 

He lets out a pleased bark of delight when Shiro throws him off again. They launch back into heir usual dance— duck, weave, attack, dodge. It’s like clockwork and Shiro loves it. He loves to see the way Keith’s grown as a fighter, just how well they work together even in this. He’s graceful and fluid as he moves into Shiro’s blind spots, capitalizing on his lack of guard or off-centered footing. He’s a sight to behold and Shiro’s only sorry that when sparring, he can’t fully appreciate the way Keith _moves._

A few more back and forths, and Shiro finally gets Keith down on the mat. He drapes against his back, and Keith grunts as he bucks up. The position, the movements, it’s too much like all the fantasies Shiro’s entertained for weeks now and it makes him nearly lose his footing, nearly slipping out entirely and crashing against Keith. Shiro groans when Keith seizes the moment of weakness catches him in the gut and sends them both rolling to the ground, instead.

Shiro grapples with Keith, his hands sliding across Keith’s bare skin, and he nearly groans again for entirely different reasons. 

He ends up facedown on the mat again, Keith’s grip on his arm relentless as he pins it against his back. Keith’s fingers are threaded through the Altean’s, pinning that down, too. For their sparring, Shiro tries very hard not to cheat with its range, but he’s always tempted to overshoot with it or use it to knock Keith off-balance. Even now, the thought remains— if he sent his arm shooting away from them, it’d force Keith forward so he was flat against Shiro’s body. 

He’s horribly distracted by this positioning as is, Keith’s body draped against Shiro’s back, his pelvis pressed up against his ass. 

“Damn,” Shiro says, breathless and panting. He can feel the heave of Keith’s chest against his back, in turn.

“Yield,” Keith growls. 

Shiro bucks up, trying to twist around. He manages to get halfway through it before Keith snarls and slams him back down again, on his back this time. He wheezes as Keith knocks the air from him, the two of them face to face now. 

Shiro’s body aches in the best way, in the way he loves most— the sort of bone-deep, clawing ache of a good fight with Keith. A sparring victory that Keith’s earned. Shiro slumps beneath him, feeling Keith’s weight against him in turn.

“I yield,” Shiro whispers, staring up at Keith.

Keith smiles, deadly and serene in his victory. He sags down against Shiro, humming out his pleasure. Shiro can practically _feel_ the lick of Keith’s purr as it grows in his chest, blooming upward. It’s a pleasant sound, gentle and almost soothing. It makes him shiver. 

Keith looks golden and perfect above him, shirtless and sweaty. Shiro swallows thickly, gazing up at him and not wanting to look away. He never wants to look away. 

They linger there, for a moment too long to just be casual. Normally, by now, Keith would roll away, or they’d otherwise separate. Instead, Keith stays above him, pinning him down, his heaving breath slowing in lieu of his growing purr. 

Shiro’s breath stills, his heart still beating far too fast. His eyes flicker, tracing Keith’s face and darting down, watching the rise and fall of his bare chest, the subtle definition of his abs and firm chest. The jagged scar on Keith’s shoulder cuts along the firm muscles, the sheen of sweat accentuating the slim taper of Keith’s waist. 

“So,” Keith whispers, his voice thick with his purr. “What do I get for winning?” 

Shiro thinks he should laugh, but the sound strangles in his throat. He stares at Keith’s lips, the simple curve of a triumphant smile, the peek of fang and the flash of tongue as Keith drags it across his lower lip. 

They didn’t make any sort of bet this time, but Shiro sees it for the test it is. 

“What do you want?” Shiro asks. 

Keith hums, tilting his head to the side as he looks down at him. There’s the quiet moment of expectation between them, a silence that makes Shiro hold his breath and wait. Everything Keith does feels purposeful. Every moment before this, somehow, feels like it’s led to this. 

Shiro’s eyes flick back to Keith’s lips and he sees the moment Keith notices. Keith draws in a slow, steadying breath, his purr quieting just a little, and then he licks his lips again. There’s that same flash of a fang, the peek of his pink tongue dragging over his lip. 

Shiro thinks he should say something, but he never gets the chance. Keith’s hands shift, planting themselves on either side of Shiro as he braces himself. 

And then Keith leans down, pressing his mouth to Shiro’s in a searing kiss. 

Shiro gasps, the sound hitching up in his throat. The world centers in on only Keith and as Keith presses down against him, Shiro surges up to meet him— his hand lifting to hook around the back of Keith’s neck and haul him down closer. 

Keith is relentless in all things, and this is no different— he kisses Shiro sloppily, his tongue swiping across his bottom lip before he deepens the kiss with a groan. Shiro can only hang on and meet him, groaning as Keith lays claim to him. 

And he does lay claim— the kiss of his teeth, the slide of his tongue, the hush of his breath— it leaves Shiro entirely delirious, grasping at Keith and nearly whimpering into the feeling of it. 

And when Keith lowers himself down against Shiro fully, pressing his body down against his, Shiro feels that he’s half-hard. It makes him gasp out at the feeling of Keith’s cock sliding against his, also half-hard in his pants. 

The sensation, the reality of it, makes them both freeze. “Oh,” Keith whispers into the kiss, unwilling to break it even now. “ _Oh—_ ”

“Keith,” Shiro says and it comes out almost like a whine, swallowed up by the pillow of Keith’s lips against his, the curling punch of Keith’s purr vibrating enough to make even Shiro’s chest rattle. 

But Keith doesn’t let Shiro pull back. He growls, biting down hard on Shiro’s mouth before he rocks his hips forward. He rolls his hips and ruts against Shiro and Shiro’s a gasping, shuddering mess at the electric pulse of it. He never would have expected this, but after weeks of just staring at Keith and imagining, it’s nearly overwhelming. 

He jerks his hips up against Keith’s, seeking that friction. It’s hardly their most graceful, rocking together with their gym clothes separating their skin from skin. Shiro holds tight to Keith, moaning as Keith kisses him deeper. He slings one leg around Keith to press him down, groaning as he feels Keith harden further against him. 

“ _Keith,_ ” he gasps between kisses.

Keith makes a low sound, a deeper-set purr, and breaks the kiss to nuzzle at his jaw. There’s a sort of forcefulness to him in this, too, desperate and driven forward by an unspoken desire. His hands find his gym pants and tug them down. Shiro shimmies his hips up in encouragement until Keith reaches for him, too.

They rut like that together, splayed out on the gym floor. It’s so abrupt, almost primal, but Shiro doesn’t care. He gasps, his fingers finding Keith’s hair and twisting tight. He gives a sharp, shocked cry of pleasure when Keith’s hand finds his cock and curls around him, tugging him to full hardness.

Keith’s cock slides up against his, and the beading of precome slicks the way as they rock together, Keith’s hand sliding between them. It takes some shifting, but he manages to get them both in hand and rocks forward, setting a frenzied pace. It’s desperate and needy and _glorious._ Shiro barely has a chance to catch his breath, his body pulsing with desire and surrounded by Keith, only Keith. 

“Fuck,” Keith moans as he rocks against him. “Fuck, Shiro—” 

“Yeah,” Shiro says, clinging to him. He fucks up against Keith’s hand, the slide of his cock against his nearly overwhelming. “Yeah, Keith. I’m here—” 

Keith pushes closer, kissing Shiro with his free hand cupping his jaw. It’s the strangely tender touch, accompanied with the almost-feral force of their rutting, that makes Shiro want to cry out. Keith whimpers at the feeling of it, of Shiro pressing up against him, of rocking into his hands, of his breath ghosting against his lips. It’s a perfect sound, a mix of whine and purr. He’s the most beautiful thing in the world and it leaves Shiro breathless. 

When Shiro comes, it nearly takes him by surprise. He feels the build of desire, the desperate grasp of his hands on Keith, the rock of their bodies. Keith shoves Shiro’s shirt up, touching his chest, and that whips Shiro away. He pulses in Keith’s hand and the little trill of delight Keith lets loose is enough to push Shiro over the edge.

He jerks up, thrusting haphazardly into Keith’s grasp, moaning as he comes across his stomach and Keith’s fingertips. Keith pauses long enough only to watch him, his eyes dark and desiring, his lips parted and shiny from their kiss.

“Fuck,” Shiro says with the deepest feeling, his heart hammering in his throat and his body shuddering with the aftershocks of orgasm. 

He can’t manage to say more before Keith growls and jerks forward, kissing him again. Kissing Keith is a revelation, the taste of his tongue and the soft sigh of his breath as he devours Shiro. There’s a force to this, a determination and reverence that leaves Shiro shuddering. He feels the pulse of Keith’s cock against his stomach, grinding against him, the friction sending him over the edge, too, his come spills out across Shiro’s abs, joining his own. 

It leaves them panting, Keith’s mouth pressed sloppily to Shiro’s, hardly kissing him as he shudders through his orgasm. It’s more a sharing of breath, which feels almost more intimate. Shiro wants to drink him in, wants to memorize every little reaction to the feeling of it. The perfect flex of his body, the pulse of his cock against Shiro’s heaving belly, the welcomed stickiness of their come between them. 

Shiro can’t count the times he’s gotten off to the thought of having Keith like this, their sparring matches always feeling so much like foreplay. How many times has he imagined being held down and fucked like this? Pinning Keith to the mat and rutting against him? 

Keith wants it. Shiro wants it, too. Shiro wants to do something sappy and ridiculous, like rub their noses together or whisper poetry against Keith’s skin. It’s miraculous in its own glorious way, everything too much and too bright and too perfect. Shiro wants to lay worship to Keith. Instead, he settles for grabbing him and yanking him down, kissing him and kissing him and _kissing him._

Keith pants against him, open-mouthed and sloppy with his kiss, his hand swiping across Shiro’s stomach and touching his cock. Shiro’s too oversensitive and even the gentle glide of Keith’s fingertips makes him shudder. 

“Fuck—”

Keith purrs happily as he bites down hard on Shiro’s lip. And then just as abruptly, he jerks away, straddling Shiro’s hips and yanking him up by his shirt collar. “Off.”

Shiro doesn’t need to be told twice. He feels too fuzzy-edged from the orgasm, every movement hurried but haphazard. He reaches for Keith and Keith growls, grabbing at him when he takes too long. 

Keith pulls Shiro to his feet and Shiro’s still too weak-kneed to even process what’s happening, only that Keith is picking him up. It isn’t bridal and it isn’t fireman-style, either. Keith just pins Shiro to his hip, his hand scooped up under his ass to keep him there. It’s casual, possessive, and axis-tilting. 

Keith moves quickly, with that same confidence and surety he uses during sparring matches. Shiro has no idea where he’s taking him, but they’re still half-dressed and panting from their orgasm, and it’s obvious what they’ve been doing. But Shiro doesn’t get the chance to worry about it or to think of anything beyond Keith’s casual strength when Keith slams him up against the nearest wall. As soon as Shiro’s back hits the wall, he loses all sense of thought. Keith growls and pitches forward, devouring his mouth. 

It’s luxurious to kiss Keith like this, pinned between him and the wall. Shiro melts into he kiss, slinging his legs around Keith’s waist and hanging on. He knows he won’t be dropped and there’s a thrill in trusting Keith to hold him up, even when distracted with the taste of Keith’s lips, the slide of his tongue across the seam of his mouth. Shiro feels light-headed in the best way possible, rocking his hips to rut again against Keith. He’s still soft, but he knows it won’t be long before he responds again. 

Shiro feels dizzy with it all, holding tight to Keith and feeling every shift and pull of Keith’s body. He feels the lick of Keith’s purr against his mouth as they kiss, sloppy and uncoordinated. Keith’s hands cup his ass, holding him up, and Shiro nearly shudders when Keith squeezes. Shiro’s shoved up further against the wall when he gives a pleased whimper at the touch, his mouth opening in a quiet gasp that Keith swallows back down. 

This is exactly what Shiro imagined, exactly what he’d hoped for. He shudders his way through the sloppy trading of their kisses, Keith’s hips rocking up in little pulses. His cock is already plumping up between them, Keith’s sounds getting breathier and more pitched in pleasure. 

Shiro can’t help but pant. “Fuck, Keith.” 

Keith’s teeth are sharp, definite fangs as they nip at Shiro’s gasping mouth. 

“I knew you liked this,” Keith growls, the words husky and graveled out and punching Shiro right in the gut. Shiro feels his cock twitch at the words, the reaction involuntary. Keith’s response it to pulse his hips forward, cock sliding against the flat expanse of Shiro’s stomach, hardening further. 

Shiro tries to make sense of the words, humming in question as Keith sucks hard on his bottom lip, his fangs scraping across his sensitive mouth. 

“What?” he asks, word muffled by Keith’s tongue. 

“I’m strong,” Keith says and bites hard at his lip again. 

He breaks the kiss long enough to press kisses up the line of Shiro’s jaw, nuzzling to his ear. It’s a sweet gesture despite the heat behind it all, Keith’s eyes hinting Galra yellow the more they move together. He peers at Shiro, in that quiet, intense way he always does. 

He nuzzles at his temple, lips grazing the sensitive spot of skin near his ear. His voice is soft against Shiro’s skin, his nose pressing into his hair as he whispers, “You want me to hold you up.”

“ _Yes,_ ” Shiro gasps. He can’t even be embarrassed that Keith’s realized or really wonder _when_ he realized. “How—” 

“You’re not subtle,” Keith says and bites his ear. 

His hand lifts from his ass to shift between them instead. Shiro barely registers the sound of ripping fabric as Keith yanks at Shiro’s pants, both of them unwilling to draw away enough to get them off properly. 

Shiro can’t even be mad, not when it means that Keith’s fingers swipe down the swell of his ass, teasing at his hole. Shiro shudders, but just as quickly as he gets the touch, it’s gone again. 

“Keith—” 

Keith’s hand touches his belly instead, swiping at the come there. He nuzzles at Shiro’s jaw still, his purr growing louder again even when Shiro lifts his hands to tangle tight in Keith’s hair. 

Keith plays with the come on Shiro’s belly, finally slowing down enough to seem unhurried. It means Keith’s holding him up one-handed— and it’s with a thrill that Shiro realizes that Keith’s doing it on purpose: taking his time, his arm flexed, showing Shiro every little movement he makes. He holds Shiro up one-handed and it’s _nothing._ There’s barely a shift of his weight and Shiro gasps at the thought of it, at the casual display of Keith’s power. 

“You want me to fuck you like this,” Keith says and Shiro loves the confidence of the words, the surety of his welcome. Keith is _always_ welcome. Shiro’s practically overwhelmed with the thought of it. 

Shiro nods, his head going fuzzy. “Yes. Yes, Keith—” 

When Keith’s fingers swipe at his hole again, they’re slick with come. It eases the way, the tease still unbearable but made sweeter with the expectation of Keith entering him. 

Shiro would go toppling to the floor if it weren’t for the sure way Keith holds him, especially when the touch makes Shiro gasp and thrust forward. He shudders in Keith’s hold, his cock twitching at the thought, at the touch, at the reality of it all. 

Keith nips sharply at his jaw, his mouth curved in a delighted smile even as he nibbles at Shiro’s skin. He presses up against Shiro, shifting him in his hold to get him right where he wants him. He's unconcerned by Shiro’s jostling or haphazardly thrusting hips. He takes his time, swirling his fingers over his hole, smiling wider when it only rips a groan from Shiro’s throat. 

“Keith—” 

“Going to fuck you,” Keith says with that same confidence and Shiro wants to weep for it. He loves it, he loves all of it— the way Keith holds him up so easily, and the confidence and assurance of his welcome to it. Shiro is Keith’s. He always has been. 

“Please,” Shiro says with a groan. He tightens his legs around Keith’s slim waist, so small and crushed between his thighs. Keith seems thrilled to be in such a position. 

Keith looks at him then, his eyes bright. There are times when Keith goes Galra while they spar, and Shiro always loves to note those changes, but there’s something powerful in the way he looks now— knowing that _Shiro_ is the cause of it.

Shiro untangles his fingers from Keith’s hair in favor of cupping his cheeks. He cradles him close, bumping his forehead to his even as Keith’s fingers prod at his hole, slicking him up the best he can with the come between them. 

Keith looks so strong, but Shiro’s Altean hand nearly dwarfs him. The full palm of him encompasses Keith’s cheek, and for all his strength, all his power, he looks almost small. There’s something almost sweet about it. Shiro is helpless and he’s never been more grateful to be so. He never thought it could be _good_ to be helpless, to be pulled so completely into Keith’s orbit that he can never escape it again. 

There’s no such thing as escape velocity when it comes to Keith. He’s here, and he’s with him, and there’s nowhere else that Shiro would rather be. 

“You’re beautiful,” Shiro says, the words sighing out of him. 

Keith’s eyes seem to glow as he looks back at him, his smile almost shy. “Shiro…” 

“You’re so incredible,” Shiro whispers and feels the praise shudder through Keith. He slides his fingers back into Keith’s hair, kissing him slow and sweet, his body rocking down against Keith’s, his entire soul singing for him. “You’re— fuck, Keith. What you do to me.” 

Keith whimpers then, thrusting his hips up. He’s hard again, his cock sliding against Shiro’s feverish skin, desperate for friction. His fingers press against Shiro, barely for any other reason beyond the pleasure of touching him. 

Shiro feels more relaxed than he has in ages, ready for Keith and whatever he might give him. His feet don’t touch the ground and he loves the simple joy of that, of looking at Keith and seeing no shake, no tremble, no fatigue to his body. He’s so strong— holding Shiro up was never a burden, never like this. 

Keith groans as Shiro keeps moving against him. “I need to—”

“Shh,” Shiro whispers when Keith’s hand still fumbles at his hole, uncoordinated and overwhelmed with all he wants to do. It’s almost endearing, really, to know that Keith is just as affected by Shiro, that despite his confidence, his inexperience shines here.

Shiro tugs on Keith’s hair until his head tilts back to look at him. Shiro smiles at him, feeling both serene and wicked at once. “Give it to me, Keith. Come here.” 

He tightens his legs around Keith’s waist, heels digging in against his ass to drag him in closer. 

“Shiro—” 

“Take what you want,” Shiro says and this time, he’s the one to bite hard at Keith’s lip. It makes Keith whimper, shuddering in Shiro’s hands. He’s nearly pliant with it, still holding Shiro up, but ready to sink against him.

His purr is a quiet little murmur, hopeful and desperate to please. And that was always Keith’s way, in the end— strong, powerful, but all his attention directed to Shiro. Ready, always, to give Shiro what he wants. 

Keith grinds their cocks together, slicker now with the precome. Shiro tries to shift his hips, to coax Keith’s fingers closer. He’s not sure if it’s Keith’s hesitation or his teasing that makes his fingers circle his rim without entering. Shiro clenches around nothing, desperate to be filled. The only thing he can think of is how good Keith will feel inside him. 

He’s wanted this for so long, it’s nearly suffocating. The force of his own desire nearly shocks him. 

But then again, it’s Keith. 

“Keith,” Shiro whispers, gentle and imploring. He nuzzles his nose against Keith’s, his mouth ghosting his. “Keith. Please.” 

And that seems the last thread within Keith that needs to be snapped. He growls at the sound of his name, shoving closer. His hands grasp at Shiro, arranging him how Keith wants him, and then he lets go again to fist his own cock. He strokes a few times, slicking up his precome to guide the way, and then nudges his cockhead up against Shiro’s hole. He doesn’t even give Shiro the chance to catch his breath before he pushes in. 

The first breach of just his cockhead leaves Shiro shuddering, his body warm and relaxed enough that he swallows around Keith easily. He wishes, almost, that he might be able to watch the moment Keith enters his body. But this is good, too, held up and pressed against the wall, completely at Keith’s mercy. Better, even, than anything else. 

He watches Keith as he moves, the way his fangs dig deep into his bottom lip, his eyes glowing as he sucks in a sharp breath, shuddering as his cock slips against Shiro’s body. His chest heaves, his core tight, his arms flexing as he holds Shiro, the muscles flexed but unshaking. The sweat from their sparring clings to his skin, making him look golden and glowing, his lips kiss-soft and hair wild from Shiro’s grasping. 

Keith’s lips part as he slips further into Shiro, his eyes jerking up to look at Shiro as they move. He lets out the quietest breath, his purr hitching. For the first time, he looks uncertain. 

He glances down, hands steady on Shiro. “Tell me if—”

“I love you,” Shiro whispers, the words leaving him in a punched-out gasp before he can think better of it. Keith’s head whips up to stare at him wide-eyed, mouth-slacked, but Shiro can’t regret the words. He never will. He cups Keith’s face again, thumbs swiping across his cheekbones. “You feel good, Keith. So good. Keep going.” 

Keith looks shellshocked by the words, his eyes flickering as he studies Shiro’s face. But then he gives a jerky nod, shoving in closer and angling his hips up. 

“Slower,” Shiro murmurs, holding him. “Take your time.” 

Keith bites his lip, barely swallowing a whimper. His purr sounds louder now, fueled on by Shiro’s words. He does as Shiro says, though, easing into Shiro’s body. His cock moves in slow little glides, nudging deeper and deeper but unwilling or unable to set any sort of pace just yet. Shiro wonders what he’ll do first— start a thrusting frenzy or bury himself fully into Shiro before pulling out again. 

Shiro smiles, tugging Keith closer so he can nuzzle into his hair. “Perfect. Like that. Just like that, Keith—” 

Shiro can’t watch Keith’s cock enter him, but it’s still a pleasure to watch Keith as he feels Shiro, instead. Shiro loves every little change that falls across his beloved face, the furrow of his brow, the slack of his lip before it gets caught between his teeth, his eyes lidding. He’s beautiful, he’s always been beautiful, and he’s all Shiro’s. 

Shiro jerks his hips up, involuntary and fueled forward by the pleasure of having Keith all around him. He’s suspended, completely at Keith’s mercy, and it’s all he could ever want. He knows he’s in no danger— Keith has only ever treated him gently. 

“Keith,” Shiro whispers and hunches down to kiss him again. He can’t help it. 

Keith groans as he bottoms out, pitching forward to catch Shiro’s lips in a quiet kiss. They both shudder at the feeling of it, of Shiro’s body opening to Keith, to the perfect way Keith slides home. Shiro’s legs flex and tighten and Keith shifts, pushing Shiro against the wall. His shoulders bunch, sweat and scars standing out in a perfect masterpiece of Keith’s body. 

The only tremble in Keith’s hands is from pleasure, never fatigue, and Shiro whimpers pathetically against Keith’s lips. Keith sighs, sucking Shiro’s tongue into his mouth, his answering whimper almost reverential. 

“Move,” Shiro says in a hushed murmur, his lips ghosting against Keith’s. It’s a rumbly, heated kiss, but no less felt. Shiro wants to get lost in the feeling of it. All of it. 

“But—”

“ _Move,_ ” Shiro commands and clenches around Keith’s cock pointedly. 

It makes Keith cry out, fucking up into Shiro in a few jerky shifts. It feels _good_ to feel the restrained rock of Keith’s hips, the way their bodies move together, like they were always meant to fit together like this. 

Shiro can’t help but think of all the other ways they might take each other apart. For now, there’s only this— the blissful glide of their bodies together, the pulse of Keith’s cock buried inside him. It takes some adjustment for them both, but they find their rhythm. Keith sets the pace and Shiro follows him, clenching around him and sliding his hips to thrust against him as Keith rolls up. 

Shiro presses sloppy kisses to Keith’s jaw, nuzzling and moaning his praise as they move. Keith’s always been a quick learner, and this is no different. It takes only a few hushed whispers of _deeper_ and _slower, baby,_ and Keith is gone, groaning and perfectly directed. 

They’ve always moved well together, after all. Keith’s always been so good at knowing what Shiro needs. 

“That’s it, Keith,” Shiro pants as Keith fucks into him, deep and pulsing. “So good. Perfect. You’re perfect—”

“Fuck, Shiro,” Keith says in a whisper, shuddering as the words wash over him. 

It makes Shiro smile— if Keith knows what Shiro likes, it feels appropriate that he should know exactly what makes Keith come apart, too.

He nips at Keith’s ear, nuzzling. “I love you. You’re so good to me.”

“Shiro,” Keith cries out, losing his pace and fucking harder and deeper into Shiro. 

Shiro drags his fingers through Keith’s hair, petting him and guiding him forward. Keith is sharp and precise in all things, but he loses his pace a few more times as Shiro praises him, but Shiro likes the thrill of it— of finding the ways in which Keith is helpless with him, too. 

“I— I love you, too,” Keith whimpers just as he twists his fingers around Shiro’s cock and strokes him off. 

Shiro’s heart squeezes in his chest, his breath coming out in soundless whimpers and helpless gasps of Keith’s name. He can barely respond before he’s coming across Keith’s fingertips, shuddering through the unexpected feeling of it. He feels punched in the gut, his toes curling at the luxurious feeling of Keith all around him, of those sweet words washing over him. 

He feels suspended but it’s nothing like zero-gravity. It’s Keith’s arms, wrapped around him. It’s Keith, forever, making him buoyant. 

He thinks he might whimper Keith’s name again. He’s not sure. He clenches around Keith’s cock, his body shuddering and rocking through his orgasm. He’s only distantly aware of Keith fucking hard against him, attempting to follow Shiro’s sated pace— and when he squeezes his body around Keith’s cock again, Keith gives one little cry and spills inside him. His cock pulses, shuddering within him. Shiro feels the flood of his come inside his body, the throb and bulge of Keith’s cock as he fills him, and Shiro clenches tight around him to milk him, to keep him there. 

He wants to stay like this for as long as he can, held aloft in Keith’s arms. 

Keith purrs, a rumbling, loud sound as he nuzzles at Shiro’s neck and shoulder, mouthing absently. Shiro almost wants to cry from the sweetness of it, thinking he can _feel_ Keith spelling out his love and devotion or Shiro in the stamp of his mouth to his skin. Shiro buries his face against the crown of Keith’s hair, breathing him in. He wraps his arms tight around him, squeezing him, keeping him there.

“Love you,” he says.

“Me too,” Keith answers, and jerks back enough to catch Shiro’s mouth in a desperate kiss. 

It’s a sweet kiss, one that guides them back down as they catch their breath. Keith makes no move to pull out from Shiro or to set him down, and Shiro’s grateful for that. He clings to Keith. He never wants to let go. 

“You’re not too tired?” Shiro asks once they break the kiss, blinking down at him. 

Keith preens, his eyes glittering. “I told you already,” he says, his hands gentle where they hold Shiro up. “I can handle your weight.” 

It makes Shiro laugh, tears nearly stinging the back of his eyes at the ridiculous tenderness of the words. 

“You really did know?” 

Keith shrugs, pressing a kiss to Shiro’s smiling lips. “I thought so… but wasn’t sure. But then watching you while I did pull-ups kind of clued me in.” 

“Fuck,” Shiro says, blushing. “I can’t help it. You’re so strong.” 

It makes Keith laugh, his eyes soft. “I’ll carry you around as many times as you want.”

“Oh good,” Shiro says, laughing through his embarrassment— he can hardly be too ashamed, if this is the result— and ducks down to kiss Keith’s smiling mouth once more.

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject) (including the [LLF Comment Builder](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/commentbuilder)), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates responses, including:
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